Clockwork
by Laelyn24
Summary: A one shot for Mush Week 2008: One boy. One girl. Two very different lives. But they cross pathes only briefly each day. Sometimes that is enough...


_Disclaimer: I do not own Mush._

_A/N: My entry for Mush Week 2008._

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It is like clockwork.

You could probably set your pocketwatch to it. He turns up--everyday--at ten minutes past nine on that same street corner. It seemed that nothing can offset his routine--not even foul weather. It could be below freezing,snow churning up in icy gusts, and he would still be there, on that same intersection where he has been for nearly a year now, hawking the headlines of the World for the pedestrians that walk by. He has become a permanent fixture in our little neighborhood--and my life.

If I could, I would spend countless hours simply observing the people on the street; I find them to be absolutely fascinating. Unfortunately, my parents would rather I focus on more useful things such as my studies, my chores, and my inability to sew in a straight line.

I like to sit by the bedroom window while sewing, which might account for my inability to concentrate. I tend to get distracted as I observe the world through my little portal. Can I help it if my window looks down on that particular street corner where he peddles his newspapers, everyday?

I glance toward the clock. It was nearly time--ten minutes past nine. Any second now...

"Extra! Extra! Read all about it!" His crisp, clear voice rings out over the bustle of the streets below.

Like I said, clockwork.

At first I don't even bother to go to the window. I only listen; I love the sound of his voice as it floats through my window on the cool autumn breeze. It breaks through dull buzz that is the hundreds of other voices which pollute the streets. He advertises the headlines with great importance, keeping the populace of Manhattan up to date on only the most intriguing developments around the city. Listening to the repetition of the most important news, it isn't long before I have them all committed to memory.

Walking to the window, I rest my elbow against the sill and watch him from my high perch. He waves the newspapers over his head, trying his best to entice the potential customers. I watch as people pass by without giving him a second thought; I know exactly what they think of newsboys, particularly him because he happens to be on their chosen route. They think he is a waste of space--a street rat with no real purpose in the world. They would call him a nuisance, cluttering up a busy street corner and hassling them as they go by. They see no need for him, not until they want to be enlightened on the happenings in the world; it is only then that they take a moment to consider his worth, but it is only for a fleeting moment because then they take their newspaper and carry on with their lives.

I am of the opinion that people only see what they want to see. They shape the world according to how they think it should be, never really taking the time to look at things properly.

To me, he has a purpose in the world, even if to the rest of Manhattan it is a small purpose. He provides the city with knowledge. If it weren't for him and the other newsboys, the citizens of New York City would be completely ignorant of the latest events in our great nation. And they would probably have to go out of their way to obtain this knowledge if it weren't for the likes of him.

He is not a nuisance or a waste of space. In fact, I think he fills his space with more determination than most people; he works hard to sell those papers, day in and day out. His work ethic is rather impressive, because he finds a way to get the job done even when the headlines are terrible. Thinking about it, I could never work that hard to earn so little.

And, you know, it doesn't matter the kind of day it is, or how the people on the street treat him, he always has a smile on his face. It's not one of those fake smiles either. It's genuine, friendly and warm. I admire him for that.

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It's like clockwork.

You could probably set yer pocketwatch to her timin'. She turns up everyday at half past nine on the street corner wheres I sell me papes. I knows the time 'cause of the church bells that ring in the distance. It don't matter what kind of day it is, she walks across that street at the same time everyday. It's been almost a year that she's been buying papes from me. It's nice to a have some regular customers.

I been selling me papes for 'bout twenty minutes when I hear 'em. The church bells ring out their rhythmic pattern over the streets to signal the time--half past nine. Any second now, she will appear. I glance across the crowded street in anticipation of the next sale. It ain't no surprise to see her walkin' toward me spot.

Like I says, clockwork.

I can't say why I chose this particular spot to sell papes. Probably 'cause there's always a whole mess of people moving passed this corner, I dunno. All I knows is, I can sell pretty good 'round here. The tips are usually good too, which is why I ain't found somewheres new.

Well, there might be another reason I still sell on this corner...

It was obvious the first time I seen her, I knew she wasn't no street rat, like me. She don't have a layer of dirt sticking to her face, like street kids do. Her clothes is always fancy, neat and clean too. She always smells nice, leaving the lingering scent of fresh flowers when she walks away--probably back to one of them big mansion nearby. I'd guess that her family's one of them hoity-toity types with lots of money to go 'round.

I think by now she knows that I look for her when I hear them bells ring. When she looks between the swarm of people our eyes meet and she smiles. It ain't one of them fake smiles neither. It's one of those that's genuine and kind. I's grateful for a few of them every once in a while. There ain't a lot of people that appreciate us newsies. They just wants their papes and then they beat it without a second thought as to why I'm here. I don't take it personally though; it's part of the job, ain't it?

She walks up still grinning; I can't help but smile back. I think the words before she even says 'em, 'cause like I says, she's been buying from me for almost a year and the routine barely changes. Everyday, she politely asks,

"May I have one newspaper, please."

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As I step onto the street, his deep brown eyes fall on me. I can't help but smile as I catch his gaze. It is so silly, but this is easily my favorite part of the day. I have a coin clenched in my fist, ready to make the exchange for the newspaper which I will then hand off to my father when I return home. I have no reason for reading it; I already know the interesting bits.

I stop just in front of him and ask, same as everyday, for one of his newspapers. He separates a single copy from the bundle and hands it over. I hold it at my side while I drop the coin into his hand. It is funny how just our hands can mark our differences. His--dark and ink stained from handling the freshly printed news--are rough with calluses, scars, and fresh scraps. Mine--light and spotless--are delicate, though scarred from the numerous times I have jabbed myself while sewing.

I watch him pocket the money. He knows by now that I do not expect change.

He smiles again and thanks me.

I do not think he will ever know how much that smile effects me.

I can't exactly say what makes a girl like me so attracted to a boy like him. I mean, I know practically nothing about him, save the fact that he is a newsboy. I couldn't even tell you his name. Yet I live my days for these few moments each morning that we have together.

I know what you're thinking, why not strike up a conversation, find out more about him. Yes, I could do that, but I'm afraid of what might happen if I did. I'm uncertain if I could handle learning about him--knowing that we can never have more than just those conversations.

I know my place. I know that we can never be more than just a passing acquaintance, if you can even call it that. My parents would certainly never approve-- I hate saying it--the like of him. It's just how they are, never seeing outside of the circle that encompasses their world. If they did know they would say I was foolish, and perhaps I am. It might be that I have this silly idea of how my life might be a little more adventurous if he were a part of it. I could escape the monotony of my daily schedule if I could just spend one day with him. He has the freedom that I long for.

Still, I know my place and I know that I could never truly be with him. But, all these feelings that I have have to come from somewhere, don't they?

I thank him for the newspaper and tear myself away without asking the millions of questions that long to spill forth. Every day I swear it gets harder. Although, I know I cannot cross the barrier that separates our two worlds. He will never know how I really feel about him. He will never know that in an instant I would give my heart to him.

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I hand her the pape; she gives me a coin, usually a nickel, sometimes a dime. I learned after the first couple days she don't expect no change back. It's like I told ya, her family's definitely got money. A smile and a thanks are the only things I can spare for her generosity. She doesn't know how far a few pennies can take me.

She smiles in return.

I don't think she'll ever know how much her smile effects me.

It's funny, ain't it? I mean, I knows nothin' about her 'cept that she's well off and probably lives nearby. I don't even know her name. Yet, I live for these few moments each morning that we have together.

Yeah, say all ya want about how a little conversation wouldn't hurt none, especially after a year. It's just, I'm afraid of what might happen if I did. I ain't sure if I could handle finding out more about her, knowing that we ain't never gonna have more than just them conversations.

I'm certain of one thing though, a kid like me ain't never gonna have a chance with a girl like her. Yeah, I knows my place. What street rat doesn't? I knows that we's never gonna be more than a passin' acquaintance, if ya can even call it that. I told me best friend Blink 'bout how I feel. He thinks I'm crazy--and maybe I am. I get to thinkin', just maybe, she might different than all them other uppity girls passin' by. It might be that I got this idea in my head that maybe she don't care that I'm just a newsie. If I just asks her all the questions that get in my head when she walks up maybe I'd have a chance.

Still, I knows my place. It's here on the streets, selling me papes. I ain't never gonna be with a girl like that. But, all them feelings gotta come from somewheres, don't they?

She thanks me for the pape. I let the sound of her voice linger in my head as I watch her walk away. I hold back all the millions of questions that want to erupt from me mouth. I ain't gonna cross that barrier that separates our two worlds. She ain't never gonna know how I really feel about her. She ain't never gonna know that in an instant I'd give her my heart.

She probably forgets 'bout me the second she walks through her door.

I can't help but think tomorrow's another day.

Half past nine.

It's like clockwork.

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_A/N: Reviews are appreciated! Thanks!_


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